Roots
by Inkfire
Summary: In which Susan builds a life, made of little things and moments—learning to stand still. Classic!Who character insight piece, set after The Dalek Invasion of Earth. Susan/David.


**This is my first classic!Who story, so I hope it doesn't disappoint! Set after The Dalek Invasion of Earth. Please note that my interpretation of the characters comes from the series themselves, and I have no knowledge of any further material that books or audios might have provided on Susan or David. Thank you for reading!**

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She watches the crops grow.

She wanders the bristling, uneven rows as a single sun sets behind her, throwing shadows everywhere. She watches them for defects, for diseases that might have missed one's eye before. She immerses herself in the plain task, and then she walks back to the house.

David constructed it with his bare hands.

She was going to help with the plans. She was honestly looking forward to that, but as things turned out, her expectations were higher than the materials at hand could provide, and she never could design something that did not faintly remind of the shapes and grandeur of Gallifrey. She stammered when she realized, recalling all her time spent living on Earth, when her home planet was but a faraway, always unnamed memory—anxiously assuring David, over and over again, that she did not in any shape or form consider herself worth more than anything he could offer. But simply enough she did not seem gifted in adapting and creating, and whatever she could devise always spoke plainly of her origins.

It was not judgment, nor regret—merely fact, unmovable.

David nodded, and warmly said he understood.

Susan helped with the mechanics next. That she is good at, and her skills proved to be heavily required to make whole cities develop and work all over again. Her contribution was great for the communications and transport, and people are awed by the technical abilities and quick thinking of the tiny, innocuous girl from the group of the saviours. Gifted, they call her, and she has long become their little mascot of sorts. Few of them know the truth of where she is from.

With David, they often talk about it, in the evening around a nice cup of tea, for the most part. At the beginning she would always try to imagine where her grandfather might be now, and what he was doing. Now she mentions him much more rarely; one could think she had almost forgotten, if not for the single shoe David keeps finding lying around in their bedroom, always somewhere different. She speaks of Ian and Barbara though, with great affection. She never once talked of the TARDIS, but he sees her start at odd machinery noises, whenever he visits at work. He sees the way she moves and places her hands, the same, at first, with every new piece of technology presented to her. Then she shakes herself.

He knows.

Once, he asked if she wanted children, and her confusion was comical at first. The idea had apparently not once occurred to her that a human and a Time Lady might produce offspring together, although both their separate anatomies are familiar to her mind and apparently compatible. But the notion seemed pleasant to her, if unsettling, and he lets her work her way around it, as she does all things. Learning, adapting.

One day Susan will fully be no more child, and ready for one of her own, if she so desires.

For now, she works all day and then paces through the garden and fields, watching the crops grow. It is the first time, she says, that she settles in one place and purposefully plants things into the earth so they will blossom and bear fruit. The process fascinates her, and he watches from a distance, with an odd sort of heartache—for what she lost or what she never had, he cannot tell.

She twirls on her heel, quite randomly, staring up at the sky. He thinks she might have sighed.

Then she walks home.

"David!" she calls happily, face lighting up at the sight of him.

Just that, and his heart warms. His single heart, all full of her; he has long accepted the two of hers, though, and their scattered content from all of time and space. That does not necessarily leave them unbalanced. All the little oddities shape and define Susan, unique and glowing with life as she stands by his side with memories, but no regrets.

She skips to him, arms wrapping around his neck, and he laughs and scoops her up—and a moment, one moment is enough, standing simple and strong against infinity.


End file.
